Redeeming Rhys (20 page)

Life or death.

He took the knife to her neck and placed it to her pulsating vein, the one he recently admired for her life. He pondered what he would do. Rhys thought he could cut her out of a world that had disbarred him. Wren may not understand, but he was doing her a favor. He was giving her more of a chance than if she lived.

Her nostrils flared as she bit her bottom lip, lips he had just kissed. Lips he had loved. Lips that loved him back. But she didn’t love him. She fought. She, like everyone else, believed what they wanted, that he was a bad boy.

Then, life. She was pregnant with life. His life. His. Fucking. Life. His Immanuel. If there was a God, He had given him a chance and it was growing inside of the innocent girl with black hair and Mary Janes that he fell for all that time ago.

He tossed the knife to the side, deciding her fate for her. He would throw her to the world and see just how hard she could fight while testing his will. His insanity would come out soon and envelop, swallowing him whole. Before leaving, he knew he had to visit one last place to see if his sins could be wiped clean.

He laid his head against her forehead, which by that time, had stilled out of fear. His breathing was heavy. Rhys was tired, but he fought. That is what he was born to do.

“Oh, my darling,” Rhys huffed, pausing to catch his breath, “Run. You need to run.”

He let her go, and for that, he would blame his darkness, the lunacy that progressed into something darker. He let the only hope he knew go because he didn’t want to break her. She was far too delicate and he didn’t want to be responsible for shattering her.

Yet.

Living is hard when death is all that surrounds you.

RHYS GAZED ON
at Wren’s naked body, studying her hands and feet that were beginning to turn blue. She hadn’t moved them in some time either, and despite what he wanted, he knew he had to untie her sooner rather than later. She still had several pieces of duct tape covering her private area, and Rhys knew just how to punish her once she woke up. He would punish her more, then they could bathe away their sins just like he did with the others. As much as he hated a God he swore didn’t exist, part of the Catholic boy he was raised to be would always stay. It was stamped in his mind.

Rhys’ painted face started to smear away from sweat. His hair is was in complete disarray from his actions and his clothes were pungent from too many wears. He stripped himself free until he was naked before his darling, cocking his head to the side while admiring her in her tragic state. Her black hair was splayed on the pillow and her face was abused all at his hands. He hated that he had to do that to her to make her see, but it would be worth it in the end.

Rhys was certain that he would make Wren understand that everything happens for a reason. They were meant to be together. Her once pink lips were scabbed over with blood, and again, the thought of cherry liquid made his cock harden. Wren’s neck was adorned with a perfect handprint, proof etched on her body that she was his and no one else’s. Both wrists had dried blood caked around the silver tape and the bluish tinge that settled in her hands made him think back to all the women he tried to seek solace in; how he would snuggle their dead bodies in a false attempt to feel the only one that would understand him.

Her.

Wren.

Her outstretched legs were strained, the muscles in both flexing as she tried, still, in an unconscious state to free herself from the prison of him. He held the key and would never let anyone else have it. Her cunt was covered up by the tape, which made his mouth water. Not from the taste that he would soon enjoy again. Rather from the discomfort and punishment he would induce. He considered it a step closer to her own personal salvation. A reckoning that she would face. She wasn’t ready ten years ago, but he was giving her no other choice then. Her ankles, just like her wrists, had dried crimson caked around them and they had the same blue hue as her hands.

Rhys heard Wren moan and move her head. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, though he could never recall a pleasant Christmas. It was always his mother drunk and passed out in the chair while Wren opened up all the presents. He usually had one that was in the corner; a dollar Matchbox car. Rhys shook his head as he remembered back to Wren pulling out candy and toys from her stocking. He would reach in only to be greeted by hard pieces of coal. His small hands would be stained black as he sat there watching the joy from Wren.

Rhys had to let himself forget about those times. It was in the past. It had to stay there. Wren’s eyes fluttered open, her innocence just as much present as the day he first took her as her soft moans and pleas for him to stop assaulted his ears in the most delicious way. Wren awoke, her eyes settling on him. Realization came full force as she saw that he was fully naked and hard for her. They would soon enjoy the same kind of act that they did before, but he was very much a man, not a boy.

Wren’s contemplations were cloudy, but she knew she wasn’t dreaming. It was real, so real. She hurt everywhere from her head down to her toes, which were losing their feeling. She didn’t even try to move her hands anymore. Her mouth was dry and as bizarre as it sounded, all she could think of is water. She needed ice cold water to cool and ease her dry throat and mouth.

“Water,” she croaked, still staring at his undressed body.

It held stories from his life. She wondered what they meant and how he got them. As he turned to go to the kitchen to fetch her a sip of water, she caught glimpse of an intricate tree outstretched down his right arm. It was colorful and stoic, strong and bright. She wondered why Rhys got it and what meaning it held to him. She never thought as brooding and dark as he was that he would have something so… hopeful.

He came back with a glass of water in tow and sat next to her. She looked down, her cheeks instantly blushing, as she noticed his large erection. Yes, he was definitely a man, no longer a boy.

“Are you going to let me go so I can take a drink and use the bathroom?” Wren asked.

“No.”

His response was curt and short. Wren’s bladder was filling up fast and she didn’t want to think that he would kill her, but it seemed that he may. He was disconnected and cold. Wren didn’t know what she expected from a killer like him.

Rhys tilted her head up, bringing the glass up to her lips until the cool liquid filled her mouth. She took a few drinks and was instantly relieved, aside from the fact that she had to go to the restroom. Another form of punishment that Rhys was using to his advantage.

“I lost you, Wren. I want you back.”

His tone was no longer curt or abrasive. It was full of longing and sadness. His naked body stood and he made his way down between her legs.

“No. No, Rhys,” Wren cried.

“I have to make you understand…” Rhys trailed.

His strong hands grasped the edge of the silver duct tape. He yanked it off with all his might, freeing the short black strands above her pussy. Wren’s lungs exploded in a fit of pain as her bladder simultaneously released itself. Rhys didn’t relent. His hands made their way to the other edge of tape and he pulled it off with more force than the other. He did it again and again until all the pieces were freed.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Wren boasted, pulling on her taped hands and feet, a moot point.

Rhys smiled at her pain. He had her right where he wanted her again. Fighting against him. When she became feral, she was one step closer to converting to be like him.

“No, my darling, you only think you do. You will thank me for this. One day.”

“Fuck you!” Wren yells, spitting in his face.

“My boyfriend is a cop and he will kill you!”

Rhys’ contentment was short-lived as images, again, flooded his battered brain with Wren and another man. He stands from his position, desperate to find something to make her hurt. Rhys charged into the bathroom in a fit, set to destroy. He knew when he was in such states, it would be hard not to kill her. He stood over the sink and stared at himself, terrified of the man before him. The once beautiful monster was depleted and desperate.

Rhys placed his hands on both sides of the sink, trying to think of what he could do to hurt her. His eyes made contact with a wire bristle rolling hairbrush and his worry dissipated. He grabbed the brush and held it tightly in his hands, knowing how he would bring her to her knees with pain and to the bottom of her own kind of hell.

Rhys entered the room and made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t look at Wren in her eyes. He couldn’t. Just as much as he had her under his spell, she had him under hers. It would have been so easy for him to be truthful with her, but he had to make her see.

“I tried to take it easy on you, Wren, but you deliberately try to hurt me. Now, I am going to hurt you so that you understand I am the only man that you belong to.”

“Wait, no. No. I don’t know what you’re doing. Please. I’m sorry, Rhys!”

Wren started to thrash her head from side to side, but it was useless.

“You belong to me. No one else…”

Rhys situated himself between Wren’s legs. He was pleased to see that most of the hair from her pussy lips was gone thanks to the adhesive from the heavy duty duct tape. It made him remember how she used to look down there. The pinkness from her skin had turned into an angry shade of red, his favorite color, which made pride swell deep in his belly.

He took two fingers to probe her entrance; her cries didn’t disturb him, they only increased his need. It was like angels singing. He fingered her gently, just enough until he got her a place that would make her think that he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Silly little Wren. The joke would soon be on you.

Wren relaxed into the bed, letting her sore muscles settle into the soft mattress as Rhys fingered her tight cunt in a way that she remembered. In a way that she adored. In a way that made her believe that heaven was real. But, heaven and hell were about to have a fight and hell would win.

Rhys withdrew his fingers, leaving Wren breathless. She didn’t even realize she had closed her eyes, but then when she did, she opened them to lift her head up to look between her thighs at Rhys. He was still holding that wire brush that she would use when she blew her hair dry, which confused her greatly.

“Wh-wha-…” Wren attempted.

She was interrupted by a shooting pain, thrusting deep into her canal. The delicious movements made by Rhys’ fingers seconds ago was gone and replaced with a burning, scratching, tearing motion. Wren tried to fight and scream, but the only cries that left her mouth were silent ones as her chest left the bed in a futile attempt to rid herself from the prodding pain in her vagina.

Rhys’ grip on the brush hardened as he watched her breasts push themselves up in the air. Her mouth was opened in the perfect “O” while tears streamed down her face. The smell he knew too well assaulted his nose, making him aware of the damage he had done. He looked down between her legs to see blood come from her vagina.

Rhys pulled the wire brush from her pussy and Wren went limp. She was still conscious, because he took a second to gaze at her face. Her eyes were blinking down tears while she wore a mask that remained expressionless. He had won.

He knew he didn’t do permanent damage because he didn’t shove the brush too far up her cunt, just enough to make her bleed and inflict the kind of pain that would never be forgotten. She would bear the scars of him. Wren would forever understand that she belonged to him.

Rhys knelt down at her feet, unwrapping the tape with care to free them from the footboard. He climbed up her body and repeated the same act on her hands until she was completely unrestricted. Wren’s eyes stared at his, vacant and hazy, a hollowness of the woman she once was. Just one step closer to what he was wanting to accomplish…

Wren moved her fingers and toes, and it was then that Rhys came to the conclusion that the blood supply was adequate enough to where she wouldn’t lose them. Her breathing had slowed, but her tears never ceased. He had backed her in a corner where she would finally claim rout.

“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Corinthians 13:6. Though part of me revels in pain, my darling, you need to understand that this is in your best interest,” Rhys whispered in her ear, inhaling her unique scent that he could never get enough of.

“If, if…if love does not delight in evil, what do you call this?” Wren stuttered, staring up at her ceiling, not even sure how she was speaking, let alone alive.

“Consider this a conditioning act for your path of discovery…” he paused, before placing an open-mouthed kiss on her neck below her ear.

Rhys felt her skin prickle beneath his touch, and it was with that small revelation that he came to terms with the fact that despite the words that Wren shelled out, she was not ready to let him go yet either.

“Wh- wh- what am I to discover, Rhys? I’m in hell already.”

Rhys gently cupped her cheeks, knowing it was a risk if he looked her straight in the eyes again. He turned her face to stare at his, immediately getting lost in the warm honey brown pools. She blinked slowly, finally realizing that her tears were absent. Wren thought, perhaps, she had shed them all and felt all the pain, both physical and emotional, that she could feel.